


All Along the Watchtower

by revolver



Category: Left 4 Dead, Ocean's (Movies)
Genre: Apocalypse, Chromatic Character, Gen, Las Vegas, Nakama, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-22
Updated: 2010-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-13 23:40:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/142962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/revolver/pseuds/revolver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Saul grips the shotgun tightly, and Rusty can tell that he's sure he'll be the first to go if anything gets up to the room and breaks down the door. [Ocean's 11/L4D crossover]</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Along the Watchtower

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Iambic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iambic/gifts).



Saul grips the shotgun tightly, and Rusty can tell that he's sure he'll be the first to go if anything gets up to the room and breaks down the door. Pros: they're high up. Cons: ...they're high up. There's a balcony so that they can see the chaos hundreds of feet down below, but Linus already mentioned the elephant in the room. With this far between them and any supplies - a long, long stairwell that they can't possibly secure every door on - supplies are quickly going to be in _short_ supply. Already are, really, unless the minibar counts. And where does one find ammo here?

Rusty chuckles grimly. "Everyone knows to get to a WalMart if something like this happens and to lock it down. We're not getting in there."

Danny mentions the possibility of a Lookie-Loo. Try to get someone to buy it. Rusty cuts him off. Don't they remember what happened to Bill Murray?

True, but he made some rather large mistakes by posing as an enemy, Danny reminds. No, they could play it straight. How many of their hunters will be posed as sharp-dressed men in suits?

Basher cuts in - even so...! Even with allies on their side, how would one go about getting enough supplies from wherever-the-hell back _here_? No, this was a bad idea. Especially since they didn't know if they were _resistant_ or not.

Saul isn't focusing. He simply stares at the door, and hard, as though it could come down at any moment.

Linus holds his tongue, doesn't mention the big thing he saw down below, the thing that he saw throwing a car right across the eight lanes of stopped traffic. Nor does he mention what he shot from the wall a few hours ago - that thing that all but ignored gravity. There's a reason he's out there with the door open, listening and chiming in, rather than inside.

Rusty laughs, and everyone can tell it's as fake as fake can be. "I wonder how Benedict's doing?"

The rest laugh with him, but then still, and Basher comments - he bets that blighter's down in his safe, happy as a clam, having his personal chefs boil his money up into five-star dishes. It's unspoken that this is one situation that he can't get them out of.

After that, it's eerily quiet, save for the sounds of car alarms, gunfire, and human terror from so far under them. A gunshot rings out close to them, and Linus makes a small noise at the recoil.

"Was that another?" Danny asked, crossing to the balcony. The impact of a body meeting the ground is distinctly audible.

Linus nods. Basher as well comes across and stares down. "We need some bullets, men," he says.

Danny turns and speaks up to catch everyone's attention. "Basher's right. We need supplies. The things are coming up the wall, and we're not going to last long without ammo."

The bluntness makes Rusty wince, but it is true. With only the two guns - both stolen from the hotel safe - and a clip for Linus's handgun, one bullet, he supposes, in the shotgun, though that had come with a box that they'd never checked the fullness of - and just that for all of them... Chances were poor.

Linus spoke up first. "I'll go," he said, looking away from the ledge for a moment.

Danny shook his head. "No, kid, you've already got a job - keeping that area clear."

Linus tried to reign in his reaction to the address, managed to tone it down to a vaguely put-out look.

Basher raises his hand. He's quick with a gun, he says, but he'll need something easier to load than a shotgun. "Can also get a car going, move along a bit safer, if it's all the same," he adds.

Danny for a moment looks visibly conflicted, but nods. Rusty knows - this isn't the sort of job he assigns his team to. The worst they'd faced before was imprisonment, heavy fines, maybe a collection of bruises. Not this. They all know that what's out there won't just throw them into a backroom for a beating.

It's Rusty that speaks up next. "Can't have just one - someone's got to carry, then the other's got to keep everything off his back."

Danny's expression is more unreadable this time and his head moves to say no, but then he twitches, finally slides into a yes. Playing favorites won't do, here.

He calls over to the balcony. "Caldwell. Can you handle a shotgun?" he asks.

Linus nods in the affirmative, with a little comment about his mom teaching him. Basher tosses him a throw-pillow, so he doesn't bruise his lovely shoulders. Saul walks the shotgun over and then sits, pulling a paperback from his vest.

Danny stalls, giving instructions that he knows that they both already are aware of, before handing Basher the card key. Rusty's hands will be full, he explains. It only makes sense.

"Ammo, food, then medical - in that order," Danny says. "Ammo gets us everything else and keeps us from needing the medical. Food keeps us from having to go down, again, keeps us from needing the medical. Medical... Well, let's just hope we actually get a chance to use it, if we do need it."

Rusty knows he wouldn't go on like that - the order alone would have been enough, because nobody would question him. It's why Rusty's hanging on every word. They stand silently for several moments, before Danny finally nods, tells them to be safe. The emphasis on both words underscores everything they're all feeling.

As both of them cautiously pull open the door and step through to the empty hallway, Rusty chances a look back. Danny turns away just as quickly as their eyes meet. Rusty follows after Basher. He wonders how much faith Danny really puts in their coming back.

He then wonders if they'll be let back in.

•

The untouched hallway is a small comfort. With the door closed behind them, card key tucked safely into an inner pocket of Basher's coat, they can almost ignore the faint noises from outside. Everything is still, and the sedate feel of _cleanliness_ surrounds them. The scent of new carpeting, the neat tables placed periodically along the walls, the kitsch art hanging from the walls of flowers and scenery... One could almost forget they were in the middle of an apocalypse.

It is then, as they walk down the hall to try to elevator, than Rusty mentions an idea. "We should check the kitchens first," he said, "and if everything's clear - if we're still pretty secure here - we should run what we find up, then go out."

Basher nods. "A good move," he says. When the button for the elevator lights up, he nods, clearly relieved. He still has the gun at the ready, while the number ascends. Metal doors slide open smoothly, revealing an empty car, and both step in. Rusty presses the large _C*_ , and both brace unnecessarily for the smooth descent. As the numbers approach the first floor, Rusty's hand hovers just above the button that will close the doors, and Basher readies himself with the handgun. As they find the casino floor, as far as visible, empty, both let out the breaths they'd been unaware of holding.

That does lead them into taking a pallet of foodstuffs back up with them, and creative use of a frying pan on the head of the lone creature they'd found wandering the kitchen. Basher laughed it off - not so difficult, now, was it?

Danny gave them both a grim smile. It hadn't been the plan, but the burner they'd taken, the electric kettle, the can of gas, several pots, the coffee grounds, all atop the pallet of mixed dry goods... well, it really would serve them well. Now, back down with them, to get the rest, Rusty said before Danny had to force it out.

The way to the parking garage costs them a few bullets. Rusty jokes - for want of a bank truck, right?

At the sound of footsteps, Basher snaps, and quietly, that it's not very funny. He pulls from his coat a string with a hook and a paint scraper. For getting into the car without making a lot of noise, he says offhandedly, and goes to work on the nearest vehicle he can find. It takes more time than Rusty is comfortable with, but he hooks onto the handle on the interior, lifts it, and has the door open.

"In we go," he says, before handing Rusty the gun and ducking down beneath the dash. Not so easy as it used to be, he grumbles, and Rusty has to use another bullet. He tells Basher to hurry up, what with the echo in here. As if on command, the engine springs to life, a steady rumbling sound from the tall pickup. Basher springs in and shuts the door, not giving the truck a chance to warm up. They can both hear the growls above the engine. Rusty leans back, looking behind the seats as Basher drives. His exclamation is exuberant as he pulls from the space another rifle, if antiquated. From the look of the truck, he suspects a local, though neither checked the plates. A box of ammo turns up with his hunting as well.

Basher reminds him not to get too overjoyed.

He doesn't. Especially not as he's forced to use his newest acquisition on what lunges through the windshield. Basher's face is covered in black, rotten blood, and there's now a corpse (hadn't it been one before? Rusty thinks) in the front seat. It stinks, and as Basher drives, Rusty wonders if they should get rid of it.

Getting rid of it would mean stopping, Rusty says. They can get rid of it when they get somewhere to stop.

The darkness unnerves them both, and as they drive, Rusty looks back and forth across both sides of the street. "Where do you suppose we're going to find ammo...?"

"Damn trouble with this place," Basher says, "is that it's completely impractical! Not a general store anywhere that would have it!"

Rusty points further down. "There's a shooting range down that way and on the highway. Saw it in a commercial a while ago..."

Basher nods and speeds up, now that they're not actively looking. Driving between the stopped cars is difficult, but this wasn't a weekend. Traffic was lighter. Now... what Rusty can see in the road further along certainly doesn't look like a car. Much more like something that could have once been human, were it not for the size.

Rusty isn't a killer, but he knows a threat when he sees one. "Keep it steady," he tells Basher and leans out the window, sighting as well as he can. He aims well, but at this distance, the bullet doesn't penetrate the head. "Ohh..." is all he can say before Basher swerves aggressively out of the way of a tossed car, and then they can both feel the ground move beneath them as heavy footfalls charge towards them. One hand on the wheel and the other on the gun, Basher fires through the windshield that Rusty had forgotten wasn't there anymore, despite the rush of air in their faces. One, two, three shots, the last two at nearly point-blank range, or as much of that as can be managed from the truck. Rusty fires again and it finally collapses in a heap. Basher speeds ahead. The road is empty, beyond the proper limits of the city, and as soon as Basher sees the large intersection leading onto the highway - Blue Diamond, Rusty says - he's speeding down that.

The little shop doesn't look like much, especially with the door kicked in like that... They both step out, and Rusty hauls the body by its tattered hooded sweater to the side of the parking lot. Basher keeps a watchful eye as he does it, but the area seemes deserted. Too few people to attract much attention, he says.

Or too few to have turned, Rusty adds, soberly.

Basher leads in through the door, and then waves Rusty forward. The store has clearly been sacked, but plenty of boxes of bullets and firearms remain. "Bet they could only carry so much," Rusty says as he moves forward.

Basher checks the bullet types and grabs a shopping bag from behind the counter, filling it full. He pauses, refills his clip, and hands a box to Rusty for his own use.

Above the crinkling plastic, metallic clinks, and the sound of their own footsteps, though, Rusty pauses and brings a finger to his lips.

"Shh- _listen_ \- _someone's crying_."

"Yeah- in the back-" Basher says, moving instantly towards what he's sure is the stockroom.

Rusty grabs the back of his coat. "Wait- careful. Might think we're dangerous," he says.

"Right- good thinking."

Rusty peers around the corner. Right there, in the middle of the room, corpse off to the side of her and wailing through her fingers.

He moves before Basher can say that there's something _wrong here_ , and just as he's walking forward saying that they're there to help-

Three gunshots and a high screech ring out in quick succession, and Rusty has a long cut on his cheek, barely missing the eye.

"I- I tried to tell you!" Basher says, voice strained and clearly trying to keep from yelling.

Rusty looks more closely, unable to even form words, at the first corpse. The body's former face and chest is a crisscross of deep scores.

He looks almost helplessly back at Basher, who stares back, now completely silent.

After another moment, both take off running back to the truck, like guilty boys fleeing from their mischief, only they're not laughing.

Rusty shoots off everything that comes near the truck, and Basher drives, knuckles pale.

They're both still covered in blood, and Rusty knows that they're going to be waiting out a long, long quarantine in a posh hotel bathroom.


End file.
